The Oak Tree
by Literature work
Summary: George and Fred are sitting by an oak tree near the Burrow. George recalls a promise he made to his brother long ago.


The Oak Tree

The sun was bright and beautiful as the individual rays of sunlight seemed to sparkle down through the trees with warming compassion. George sat underneath the old oak tree outside of the broken down building everyone called the Burrow. The Weasleys called it home. He looked up at the canopy of the tree admiring how the leaves sparkled a light green when the sun hit them just right, changing from their usual dark and rather dull colour. He sighed inhaling the deep summer air. When they were little every one of the redheaded kids would try to tackle each other to get to the top of the tree. There were only so many good climbing branches and so many of them. When it was only the twins, Fred would always beat him to the tree because of his supposedly unlocked the ultimate secret to running. In reality, his brother only beat him because he would always shove him out of the way right before they got to the trunk. George chuckled a bit as he remembered those races they always had.

"Hey George!" a voice came out from above him, "Stop staring at the sun! You'll burn your eyes out! I don't want a deaf and blind brother!" George turned his head slightly to see Fred hanging upside down from the branches smiling at him. His eyes were the same shade of green as the leaves, just like his. They were exact copies of each other; the only way that someone could tell them apart now was that he was missing an ear. All that was left was a little shriveled hole that was where it used to be. Fred actually found a way to part George's hair to cover it up a bit. He said that if it wasn't covered someone might be tempted to see if a pencil could really go in one ear and out the other.

"I still have one good one you idiot," George retorted halfheartedly, crossing his arms comfortably behind his head. He sank down on the grass and stared up to the tree branches where his brother was climbing. Fred nimbly looped around the branch and leaped over to another one right above his head.

"That good ear of yours will fade with age you know. When we are old and grey, what will I have then? A deaf twin brother who can barely tell the difference between mashed potatoes and Mum's cooked cabbage," Fred said to him.

"Fred, no one can tell the difference between mashed potatoes and Mum's cooked cabbage," George stated flatly. Fred let out a little chuckle as he laid down on the thick branch of the oak tree and let his arms dangle helplessly in the wind. George always thought that Fred would fall off of the tree one of these days, but his brother was always a better climber than he was. He actually managed to jump from one branch to the other even though they were ten feet apart. He was like an acrobatic. George could only climb half the height that Fred could if he ever got to the tree before anyone else did. However, sitting below it seemed much more comfortable than in it. The hard branches weren't as nice as the soft grass, so George never cared so much whether he was a better climber than Fred. He shrugged a bit as he looked up at his goofy brother.

"At least when we are old and grey you can point to me and tell your grand kids, 'This is what happens when you don't listen to your elders!'" George joked. Fred burst out laughing and almost slid off of the limb.

"George, you always were better at making jokes than I was!" Fred laughed. George gave an accepting shrug and stared back up into the canopy past his brother's head. The sun warmed his face slightly as the beams scattered down to the shadowy grass in broken pieces. It was truly an enjoy able day. The Burrow's chimney was puffing out smoke and Ginny and Ron could be heard fighting over who was going to be the one to de-gnome the garden. That was another reason why they would always run to the tree. Mum would always forget about them there. Out of sight, out of mind seemed to work even with people. They would never be called for chores if they were hiding in the safe cover of the oak tree. They could climb, rest, and play all day in the tree and not have to worry about petty jobs like de-gnoming the garden.

"Hey, George," Fred said after a long time of silence. He was sitting up on the branch and leaning his rather tired looking body on the trunk of the tree. His head was gazing distantly off towards the direction of the burrow as if it was staring straight past it, not quite seeing, but still looking. "What do you think happens to people when they…. Die?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that? You aren't going all emotional on me are you?" George jabbed a bit at him as he stared up at his brother. Fred shook his head pitifully and gave a halfhearted shrug.

"No, I just wanted to know your opinion. I mean the world moves so fast and everything. When we are old and grey, what will happen then?" he said softly. George turned his head away and looked off towards the small village away from his house. It was so far away but he could still see the lights turning on for the slowly approaching evening. He let out a tiny inaudible sigh.

"I don't know Fred. I think that they get their faces imprinted on history books and then when their old withered bodies are buried deep in the ground, the students in the libraries pick out their books to make the dreaded research papers and reports," George replied lightly. The wind gave a gentle shove and blew their hair around. It messed up Georges part a bit and he fumbled to get it back together like his brother showed him. It was a hassle on windy days such as this one.

"George," Fred said after a moment of silence. George returned his attention up to his brother again where he sat on the tree branch above him.

"Yes Fred?" he acknowledged quietly. The gust of wind blew his hair again as Fred let out a huge breathe of air.

"When you are old and grey and I am six feet under, how will you remember me by?" he asked. The sun shone in George's eyes and he had to look away for a moment. It was sinking rather quickly over the horizon and the leaves no longer blocked most of its impacting rays. The warm beams of light no longer fell on the upper branches of the tree where his brother was sitting so it didn't seem to bother him that much, but George felt the fire of the sun burn in his. George covered his eyes with his arm to protect them. He huffed a bit as he tried to contemplate an answer for his brother. He really didn't want to be last. That was one race that he didn't want Fred to beat him in. giving an answer to it was almost impossible as well.

"Fred," George said to his waiting brother. "When we turn old and grey, I will promise to write my own history book about the hundred and one pranks Fred Weasley made at school and I will give it to the library so all of the students who are researching a good laugh can pick it up and see who the most infamous prankster was." Fred let out a tiny laugh at his comment. George smiled up at his brother.

"And," he said cutting the laugh off halfway. Fred gazed down at him waiting for his answer. George looked off towards the Burrow still wearing the happy smile on his face. The sun no longer burnt his eyes as it fell below some random pink cloud cover. "And I will pass on the loving memory of my twin brother by naming my kid after the most infamous prankster there ever was." He could feel the grin on his brother's face burn the top of his head and the heat was almost radiating. The sky slowly grew darker and the wind slowed down leaving his hair alone for one. The lights of the village were on at full blast now but the light didn't hit the oak leaves anymore. The bright and colourful shades were soon turned to the dull lifeless green again. The sky seemed to fight out one more burst of wind before it died out for the night. It was weak and made only small ripples in the grass as it blew across the fields of the Burrow. It tussled his hair only misplacing a few strands here and there.

"Thank you," Fred answered. George looked back up to where his brother once was sitting to see the bow empty. A light tap came off of his shoulder and he turned his head to see a small little red headed boy looking down at him. His bright colourful eyes beamed back at him happily as he clutched a tiny stick in his hand. He poked him one more time in the chest playfully.

"Who are you talking to Daddy?" the little boy questioned him. George smiled and scooped up the tiny child in his arms and plopped him on his shoulders. His son giggled and squirmed with delight as they started to walk back down to the house.

"No one Fred. I was just thinking," George said softly.


End file.
